


The Crow Flies South

by RhiaWriter



Series: The Crow Flies South Universe [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bran is Warden in the North, Daenerys Fought at Hardhome, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Forbidden Love, Infidelity kind of?, Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, King's Landing, Love vs. Duty, One Shot, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Seasons 5-8 do not exist, The Army of the Dead is Actually Terrifying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhiaWriter/pseuds/RhiaWriter
Summary: Two years ago, Daenerys Targaryen travelled to the Wall to meet her great uncle Aemon. There, she met the Lord Commander, Jon Snow, who taught her the truth about the Others. Together, they fought at Hardhome, rescuing thousands of Free Folk. They also had a brief but passionate affair.Now Daenerys, ruling from the Red Keep as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, summons Lord Commander Snow south to convince her court of the threat. Jon Snow navigates the court intrigues and southron politics to finally rally the force he needs to win his war against the dead. But will he be able to resist his growing attraction to the Dragon Queen?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: The Crow Flies South Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828660
Comments: 134
Kudos: 688





	The Crow Flies South

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of Dragons in Winter after ch. 7, but no need to read DiW to enjoy this one-shot. As always, Seasons 5-8 do not exist!

“It’s horse shit that the Dragon Queen got to kill Cersei,” Arya told Jon, offering him some rabbit she had roasted over their campfire. There were in the Brindlewood, a day’s ride from King’s Landing. “What did Cersei ever do to her?”

“Held the throne Queen Daenerys believes belongs to her by right.” Jon accepted the meat, biting into the gamey flesh. 

“Do you think it was hers by right?” Arya asked. 

“The Night’s Watch plays no parts in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon looked around the campfire to where a few of his men were sitting and eating. “Daenerys Targaryen has won it, and now we all owe her our fealty.”

“Pyp, Green, Satin, leave my brother and I alone for a moment, will you?” Arya called across the campfire.

“Of course, Lady Stark!” Satin pulled Edric with him away from the fire.

“Good, now we’re alone.” Arya pitched her voice low and conspiratorial. “And I’m not one of your men, so you can drop the Lord Commander act.”

“It’s not an _act_ ,” Jon protested. “I _am_ the Lord Commander.”

“The best the Watch has ever had,” Arya said. “But not one who stays out of politics. Who protected Bran Stark when he showed up at Wall? Who smuggled him south to Sansa who was waiting with the forces of the Vale to defeat the Boltons? Don’t pretend you don’t care about the politics of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon winced, grateful at least that she had dismissed his men before articulating his more controversial actions as Lord Commander. In addition to helping his family, he had also sheltered both Stannis Baratheon and Daenerys Targaryen on two separate visits to Castle Black. And of course he let the Free Folk through the Wall. No wonder he had discovered three separate plots to kill him in the past two years.

“I care about the politics of the north,” Jon said. “The Night’s Watch can’t survive unless we have a Warden who takes the threat we face seriously. I did what I had to ensure our survival.”

“And protect your family,” Arya countered. “Which is the right thing to do, I don’t care what your vows say.” 

When Bran arrived at Castle Black, almost two years ago now, Jon had been filled with a joy and relief he never thought he would experience again in his dark life. This was before he knew that Sansa was hiding in the Vale plotting with Bronze Yohn Royce to take Winterfell back for House Stark. Before he learned that Arya was still alive, hidden in Essos. Aemon, Jon’s closest confidant had died, and Jon was utterly alone. And then, everything changed. Bran had somehow survived, both the sack of Winterfell and dangers north of the Wall where he had hidden with Meera and Jojen Reed, Howland Reed’s children. It was nothing short of a miracle.

But Bran had changed. The young boy could not move his legs, but he could travel far with his mind. He was a warg, like Jon, but far more powerful, and he could see things beyond. He knew about the Others. He could see beyond the Wall, transport his mind into Weirwood trees so that Jon and his men were no longer blind. He reported horrors beyond the Wall: the remaining people slain; the animals fleeing the Other’s army as best they could. Jon’s men found Bran to be unsettling—both the fact that they were sheltering the Stark heir in Castle Black and that the boy was so strange. The Free Folk respected his power. Mother Mole had started a cult around him, telling stories of the fabled Three-Eyed Crow who would save mankind. 

Bran was important in the fight against the Others, Jon couldn’t deny that. His powers could indeed be the key to their salvation. But if they were going to stand any chance against the Others, they needed to defeat the Boltons first, and Jon hadn’t hesitated to let Alys Karstark know that Bran Stark was alive, igniting a rebellion that led to his brother Bran being crowned King in the North.

“But if the threat is as bad as you say then you’ll need more than a Lord Stark to protect the Wall. Which is why you’re glad she’s won of course.” Arya’s words brought Jon out of the past and back to the matter at hand.

“Queen Daenerys will do more for the Watch than Cersei ever did. She already has. She’s been to the Wall. She fought at Hardhome.”

“And she took the wildling refugees to Essos,” Arya said.

“And she took the Free Folk to Essos,” Jon corrected. It had been a deeply generous act, rescuing the survivors of Hardhome. 

“Which is why you convinced Bran to give up his kingship and bend the knee,” Arya said.

“I’ve never convinced Bran to do anything,” Jon threw his bone to Ghost who was lounging by the fire. 

“You do better than Sansa does,” Arya responded.

While Bran was Lord of Winterfell, Sansa was the Lady Regent. And she was adept at the job. Smart and cunning with the northern lords, her polite courtesies hid iron underneath. Bran mostly spent his time in Winterfell’s library, pouring over texts, or at the heart tree, spying on the Others and trying to learn their secrets. But then Bran would come out of his trances and speak with an authority that was unsettling in one so young. His siblings had learned that when he stated his will, he must be obeyed. Sansa had tried to circumvent his wishes in the beginning, but he would always discover her schemes.

“Bran and I have the same priority,” Jon said, which is why he had been able to spend so much time with his siblings in recent months. The north and the Night’s Watch must work closely together to defeat the Others. 

“The dead, the dead, the dead,” Arya took a swig of ale and rolled her eyes. “Which is why Bran agreed so bend the knee to the Dragons Queen. What did Bran say? ‘Ice and fire must be united.’”

“I swear he sounds like Melisandre sometimes,” Jon snorted.

“But is it worth it? To give up the north for the Dragon Queen?” Arya asked.

“Arya, she was at Hardhome.” When Jon closed his eyes he could picture it. The people screaming, running for the docks. The harshest cold he’d ever felt in his life. The rolling mist that pierced through his armor like knives. And then her. A girl on a dragon. A fire goddess come to save them. The dragon’s flames battling the Other’s mist. The unholy steam. “We would all have died if it weren’t for her. And she saw. She knows the threat as well as I do. And the fact that she asked me to come down to King’s Landing with a wight,” he nodded to the clunky wagon lurking at the edge of the camp, “Shows she’s still serious about protecting the Wall. The Starks could fight her and die, or you can accept her help and maybe live.”

“Why does her help have to come with bending the knee?” Arya asked.

“Don’t be naive,” Jon said. “House Stark can’t claim its independence from the South and then expect the South defend its border. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I thought the Night’s Watch didn’t bother itself with the politics of the realm?” Arya asked. Jon glared at his sister, who proceeded to stick her tongue out at him. “I don’t care about northern independence, not really. It’s easier for me to be a Lady Stark than a Princess Stark.” This is why Bran insisted that Arya travel south with the Night’s Watch to represent House Stark, and not Sansa. At least, that’s what Jon thought. Bran was nearly impossible to read. Sansa had been furious, certain that Arya was a terrible choice for a diplomat and was likely to bungle everything. But Bran would not be moved.

“But I still don’t think she should have been the one to kill Cersei,” Arya continued.

“Maybe she wasn’t,” Jon said. “We don’t know exactly what happened.” They had just received a raven that the bastard king Tommen and his usurper mother were dead. Long live Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.

“What’s she like?” Arya asked. 

Unbidden, images that Jon tried very hard to suppress appeared in his mind. Violet eyes; a tangle of silver curls; pale soft skin; a naked, full breast that fit perfectly in his hand.

“She understands the threat,” Jon felt the heat rise in his cheeks and hoped the night hid it from Arya’s eyes. “I trust she’ll be a better queen than the last queen regent.”

“Don’t give me your political line,” Arya huffed. “That’s not what I’m asking! Is she a warrior like Visenya? Or does shelove songs like Rhaenys? Or is she fierce like Rhaenyra? I hope she’s burning every Lannister loyalist she finds. I would love to watch them turn to ash.”

The glow of the fire lit Arya’s face, eerily. Jon felt the familiar ache grip his heart whenever he heard his sister talk like this. Arya had always been wild and fierce, but she returned north from Essos hardened, and craving violence. He missed the little girl who had wanted desperately to fight without truly understanding what that meant.

“She’s—“ back to the matter at hand, Jon grappled with a word to describe Daenerys— “kind?”

“Oh,” Arya looked severely disappointed. “Kind? That’s...boring.”

Jon laughed. It was. What a lame word to describe the Dragon Queen, despite the fact that it was true. “She’s not boring. She’s a warrior, a dragon rider. She has ancient magic. She’s—I don’t know her well—but I think she cares for the people who need protection, like the Free Folk, more than she cares for the powerful. I think you would like her.” That much was true. But Arya was giving him a quizzical look that told him he should have stuck with “kind.”

“I heard about her in Essos, of course,” Arya said. “She freed many slaves. I think you’re right about her caring more for the small folk than the highborn. I like that. Is it true that she stepped on a pyre with Dragon eggs, and her dragons were born?”

Jon nodded. “That’s what she told me.”

“And what are her dragons like?” Arya asked. “I’ve never gotten a proper answer from you on this.”

“Well, I only met the one,” Jon conjured up an image of the great beast in his mind—the black scales; the feeling of fire under his hand; the swooping feeling in his stomach as they flew over the Wall; how small the people looked below. “Drogon was impressive. As big as a cottage. He has black scales and didn’t like the snow. His fire torched the wights, although it didn’t work as well on the Others. Flying was quite something.”

“You mean watching him fly?” Arya asked. 

“No, I mean flying on him,” Jon said. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I flew on him with the queen,” Jon admitted. “Twice.”

He felt a sharp pain in his arm. Arya had punched him. Hard.

“Others take you, Arya!” Jon rubbed his arm.

“You rode on a dragon twice, and you didn’t tell me? How could you? Why weren’t those the first words out of your mouth when we reunited? Sister, you’re alive. By the way, I’ve ridden a dragon!”

She had a fair point. Jon knew how much his little sister worshipped the Targaryen warrior queens. When she was little, they used to play “dragons” together in the stables. He would take his little sister by both hands and spin her in a circle, hovering a few inches off the ground. Then he would fling her into a pile of hay. For the second she was in the air she would shout, “I’m Vhagar! I’m flying!” before falling to the earth, giggling uncontrollably. 

“I’m sorry.” The truth was Jon had tried to downplay the two flights he took with Daenerys as much as possible. The first flight happened when she rescued him from Hardhome in the heat of battle. In the confusion, none of his men had noticed. But the second lift he accepted when he received news that Arya had escaped to Castle Black. It had turned out to be a lie, but he had been frantic to return to his sister. So when Daenerys had offered to fly him from Eastwatch to Castle Black, he had accepted. His men certainly noticed that trip. It had been part of a series of mistakes he had made at the time. 

“I have to be careful talking about her.” Jon looked around the campfire, but no one else was within earshot. His men and Arya’s guard had all gone to sleep. “I have to be cautious around women.”

“You’re not careful around us or Alys,” Arya insisted.

“ _You_ are my sisters.” They weren’t supposed to be anymore, not since he joined the Watch. You were supposed to cut off those ties. But Benjen never did, and now that the Lord Commander and the Starks needed to work so closely together, Jon could be close with his family again. “And Alys is...Alys. I arranged her marriage.”

“So what you’re saying is that you think the Dragon Queen is beautiful, like you think Val is beautiful, which is why you’ll never be in a room alone with her.” 

“I’m saying that Her Grace left an impression on my men.”

“And on you?” Arya asked.

“Course not!” Jon lied. “Not like that. She has a dragon, so she’s memorable.”

“But she’s beautiful?” 

“She looks very Targaryen. Silver hair, purple eyes. So I suppose she’s beautiful if you’re into that sort of thing.” And apparently he was. 

“What does that have to do with you not telling me you’re a dragon rider?” Arya asked.

“I am not a dragon rider,” Jon insisted. “Only Valyrians can be dragon riders. I simply accepted a ride. But the image of me flying on the back of a dragon with the most beautiful woman my men had ever seen is not one that I want to encourage. Do you understand?”

“I suppose I do,” Arya’s look was still entirely too suspicious for his taste. “But what was it _like_?”

“Everything looks small up in the sky. The people, the buildings, the trees. And your problems feel smaller too, from up there. The world turns into a map laid at your feet. It’s cold up in the air, with the wind whipping around you, even for a crow like me. But the dragon burns underneath you. “

Perhaps it was the darkness that made him speak the next words—lulling him into a false sense of security and privacy as he stared into the flames. “The first time I flew, she saved me. I had killed an Other, but another was coming for me. Their army is death itself. The cold was their weapon. And suddenly she was there, with her fucking dragon. And I went from having no chance of surviving to flying through the sky like something invincible. It felt like hope. And I hadn’t had any reason to hope in a long time.”

Jon looked up to see Arya staring at him with a worried frown. It was an odd look on her face. Jon was always the one worrying about her.

“It’s late.” He rose, stretching out his aching back. “We should sleep.” He started for the Lord Commander’s tent.

“Jon,” Arya called after him. “Just be careful, alright?” 

Ghost followed him into his tent, snuggling against his master’s back as Jon burrowed into his furs. Ghost was the only living soul besides the Dragon Queen herself who knew just how careful Jon needed to be. Jon had lain with her. The night after their terrible battle at Hardhome against the Others, and every night after that until she returned to Essos. Ghost had acted as their go-between, guiding her safely to Jon’s room without anyone from the Night’s Watch noticing. And Jon had let her in. The Lord Commander had broken his vows, and not with some tavern wench or a Mole’s Town whore. No, he had forgotten his honor with a queen. This was no simple indiscretion that could be overlooked. As Jon uncovered the plots against him, and executed men he had once trusted like Bowen Marsh and Cotter Pyke, he knew that he acted to uphold the most sacred part of his vow: _I am the shield that guards the realms of men_. 

But bedding the most beautiful woman in the world? What justification could he possibly give for such selfishness? What possible explanation could be there besides proof that he truly was a bastard, a slave to his own lust? 

He had felt so alone when she came to the Wall to meet her uncle Aemon. She lived a life of luxury, ruling great cities in the East. But when Aemon and Jon alerted her to the threat, she offered to help. And after everything they had faced together at Hardhome, how could he deny her the comfort of this bed, when she had come to him that first night, exhausted and terrified from their battle?

Jon felt Ghost peering at him in the darkness. His wolf was judging him. What man could claim to bed a woman as beautiful as Daenerys out of the kindness of his own heart? His pitiful excuses didn’t stop his actions from being deeply, unquestionably wrong. 

Tomorrow he would see her again. She had personally requested the Lord Commander to come to the capital and bring proof of the threat beyond the Wall. But of course the Lord Commander would need to be the one to lead such an important diplomatic expedition. He couldn’t very well send Satin or Pyp to treat with the Southron lords. On the road he had learned of a betrothal between Queen Daenerys and Lord Willas Tyrell. Lord Willas had an excellent reputation. He was known to be kind and gentle. Jon wished them a happy marriage, he truly did. And if he felt the tiniest bit of rage at the thought of this soft Southron sharing Daenerys’s bed, well he could hide his emotions. No one else needed to know.

Jon rolled onto his back and Ghost snuggled in closer, laying his head on his master’s chest, a clear sign of comfort. Ghost wasn’t judging him. Ghost _was_ him, and surely the wolf understood the storm of emotions that Jon would need to bury deep to get through the next few days.

“We can’t let it happen again,” Jon whispered, scratching Ghost behind the ear. “She’s Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. If it happens again, that could mean my head.”

⌘

_The smell of shit overwhelmed him. Shit, piss, smoke, meat, fish, and human. Too much human. This was not the empty lands of the north._

“It smells like shit,” Jon coughed, loosening his cloak in the heat. He was riding next to Arya on the Kingsroad. The sounds of hooves and jangling harnesses surrounded them. They were in the middle of a company of 250 men. 50 Night’s Watch and 200 northerners, accompanying the Lady Stark. The wagon clanked and banged on the road behind them, carrying their offering to the new queen.

“We’re a few miles yet from the city,” Arya said. “Is Ghost up ahead?” He was, but not yet at the city gates. Jon’s wolf could smell the city from miles away. Neither Ghost not Jon had ever been near so many people. Jon could already tell he would hate it. He missed the brutal quiet of the Wall. 

“King’s Landing _is_ shit,” Arya had a far away look in her eye. “And the people there are shit. I wish the Dragon Queen had burned the damn thing to the ground.”

“Will you be alright, returning?” Jon asked. 

“Course, I will be.” Arya’s face went dark, guarded. “I’ve survived this city before. I’ll survive it again.” Familiar guilt took hold. He should have found her, once Father died, his vows be damned. He should have found her and protected her, so she never had to see more violence, wouldn’t have to become the person she became. He would regret not protecting her until the day the Others took him.

They road on in companionable silence, until they reached a crest in the King’s Road and could see the city laid out before them. Gigantic city walls ringed a city that was too large for Jon’s northern sensibilities. Too many people, living too close together. In the distance, the Red Keep rose, looming over the city like a threat. And then he heard a familiar cry. A huge shadow flew over the great keep, catching the air above the city. The black scales absorbed the weak winter sunlight. And then another cry was heard, and another dragons joined him. Squinting, Jon thought this one looked green. Was it called Rhaegas? Or Viserial? Jon knew she named two of them after her brothers.

“Dragons!” Arya shouted, her face was lit with childlike excitement, and for once she looked her age, a young girl of fifteen. 

“Fucking dragons!” Robbett Glover, riding to the right of Arya, swore under his breath. “Sight I never thought I’d see in my life. I thought Lord Brandon was a fool for bending the knee, but don’t know how we would fight against _that_.”

“You thought my brother was a fool, Lord Glover?” Arya glared.

“No, my lady,” Lord Glover said. “Apologies, I misspoke. We know our little lord is wise beyond his years.” After Bran and Sansa had been reunited, just before Winterfell was won, Maege Mormont had shown up with Robb’s will. A will that legitimized Jon and made him Robb’s heir. How differently things might have been if the will had arrived north before Bran had returned south. Jon could be traveling to the capital as Lord Stark, come to treat with the Dragon Queen. Perhaps a marriage alliance would have been on offer. _Don’t think about it_ , Jon chided. What was done was done. He was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch—married to duty. It was a cold marriage, but an important role. More important than the games the lords played. 

Ghost was waiting for him at the Dragon Gates. Sensing Jon’s apprehension, the great wolf stuck close to his side. As the company passed through the gates and entered the cursed city, Jon could feel the northerners holding their breaths. What was the saying in the north? Bad things happen when Starks travel south. The last two Wardens of the North had been murdered in this city. People moved off the street shutting their doors to make room for the great company. They stared at Ghost, no doubt remembering tales of the Young Wolf whose campaign for an independent north might have killed their kin. Arya rode next to Jon, sitting tall and proud in her saddle, her face fierce as if daring the city to try to hurt her again.

They arrived in the stables, dismounted and were shown to their rooms where they were allowed to wash before they would have an audience with the queen. Jon’s room was grand with a huge canopy bed and feather mattress. It was too soft for him, the decorations too fine. Ghost prowled the room, smelling all the furniture, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The great direwolf looked completely out of place in a grand palace bedchamber.

He changed from the one black gambeson he had worn on the road to the one other one he had. He washed his face and stared at himself in the wavy looking glass that distorted his features. He looked like a Stark. He could see his father staring back at him. But he was not a Stark. He was Lord Commander Snow here on serious war business and would do well to stay removed from any court games or intrigues. 

He waited for Arya outside her room down the hall from him. She emerged in a grey velvet gown, with the Stark sigil stitched on the skirt. Her hair was up, and woven with pearls. She looked adult. And miserable. Jon laughed at the frown on her face.

“You try wearing something this ridiculous,” Arya hissed.

“You look nice, Arya,” Jon said.

“Sansa insisted I dress as a true Stark lady,” Arya said. “If she were here she would be trying to marry me off to some southron lord.”

“Lucky for you Bran didn’t let her come,” Jon said.

“You won’t try to marry me off will you brother?” Arya looped her arm through his.

“Course not,” Jon felt an ache at the thought of wild Arya being forced to marry someone for the political benefit. “That’s Stark business. It doesn’t concern me.”

“Wish you would let it concern you more,” Arya said as they made their way to the throne room. “Can’t believe you didn’t defend me when Sansa was berating me for running away to the Wall.”

“Bran and Sansa need you in Winterfell,” Jon sighed. “I have no right to shield you from them.”

“Sansa needs a Lady Arya she can use for marriage alliances,” Arya argued. “She doesn’t need _me_. I always disappoint her. You’re the only one who ever just let me be me.”

They arrived outside the throne room where the rest of the northern and Night’s Watch host was waiting for them. 

“Where’s the wight?” Jon asked his men.

“You want it now?” Satin asked.

“Yes now,” Jon barked. “The queen asked for it.”

“But to bring it into the throne room, doesn’t that seem threatening?” Pyp asked. 

“We need to be a bit threatening,” Jon said. “We need to show them that the threat is real.”

As Jon’s men went to wrangle the creature, he entered the hall with the northern host. The throne room was full. Southron nobles wearing their colorful gowns and tunics lined the walls of the cavernous room. They walked down the center aisle towards the front of the hall that looked different than Jon had expected. There was no Iron Throne. At the front of the hall there was a small dais, and a simple wooden chair stuffed with comfortable cushions. 

On the chair sat a woman. She was wearing a black and red gown embroidered with rubies. Her silver hair was twisted into curls and braids that nested a gold crown shaped like dragons. As Jon and Arya reached the front of the room, Jon took a step behind his sister, letting the Lady Stark draw the focus of the room. They both bent the knee. The room was quiet, holding its collective breath for this historic moment.

“I see you found your sister,” the queen broke the silence. Jon looked up in surprise seeing a hint of amusement in those arresting, violet eyes. “She looks just like you, Lord Snow. Hard to imagine the northern lords could ever mistake Jeyne for a Stark. Lady Arya, I know Jeyne Poole, who the Boltons tried to pass off as you. She fled the north with me and took shelter in Meereen for a time. What Ramsay Bolton did to her should be done to no woman. I’m glad you and your family defeated him.”

“All our enemies are dead, Your Grace,” Arya’s voice rang out across the all.

Daenerys laughed. It was a showy laugh, one meant to be heard throughout the throne room. Not the more intimate laugh Jon had heard at moments when the queen had been taken by surprise. “I trust that means you do not consider me an enemy,” she said. “And for that I am glad. You may rise.

“Evil things were done to Starks in this room. I never knew my father, but he was a sick man. I was pleased to receive the raven from Lord Brandon Stark saying that he had decided to bend the knee and renew the fealty between House Stark and House Targaryen. While you stay in this keep, Lady Arya, I hope to show you how deeply I care about a new beginning for our great houses.”

“Perhaps Your Grace could show me your dragons,” Arya said. Jon winced. His youngest sister was truly an odd choice for a diplomat, but Lord Brandon worked in mysterious ways. 

“Perhaps, I can,” a ghost of a smile crossed Daenerys’s lips and her eyes flicked briefly to Jon. _I like you sister_ , she seemed to be telling him. “For my dragons are important to the north,” she raised her voice so it rang out over the hall. “I believe fate brought my family to Westeros. I believe House Targaryen survived the Doom of Valyria with our dragons so we could save mankind from the ultimate threat. 

“Two years ago, I travelled to the Wall to meet my great uncle. There, he told me what the Night’s Watch faced. For years the Night’s Watch has been defending the Wall from an Army of the Dead while the south has tried to tear itself apart. They have acted alone for too long. But no more. I brought my children and my armies to Westeros to join the Night’s Watch in the Great War. The only war that matters.”

She rose and walked down from the dais, coming to stand before Jon. Ghost stretched out his neck to greet her. The Queen lifted her hand as if to pat him on the head, but then stopped herself, crossing her arms behind her back. She was only a couple of feet from Jon now. _Foreign perfume invaded his senses, but underneath it he detected a familiar scent._

“Did you bring the wight?” The queen asked.

“I did, Your Grace,” Jon nodded. There was a clatter and the sound of shouting at the back of the hall. “My men are bringing it in now.”

“Clear a path,” Daenerys commanded. “Let them through.”

Pyp, Satin, Dolorous Edd, and Grenn, struggled into the hall, dragging the wight on its chain. Jon heard screams from men and women both. Courtiers ran to the walls of the hall. The wight made an awful commotion, as it struggled against its chains. It had seen better days. It was missing an arm, although perhaps this enhanced the effect. This was not the first time Jon had presented it to a court. They had captured it on a scouting expedition up the coast by Hardhome. Jon had brought it to Winterfell shortly after his siblings had won back their home. Jon and Bran together had explained the threat. But nothing was as effective as showing a wight. 

They made their way to the front of the hall, stopping a safe distance from Arya, Jon, and the queen. The queen’s guards moved in close to her, but she raised her hand, signaling them back. They weren’t Westerosi. They had dark skin and wore simpler armor than Westerosi knights. Perhaps these were the famed Unsullied?

“Lord Commander, will you tell my court what this _thing_ is?” Daenerys asked.

“This is a wight,” Jon’s voice rang throughout the hall. “It is a corpse raised from the dead by the Others.”

“The Others?” A man stepped forward in the front of the hall. He was tall with brown hair and blue eyes. He wore rich velvets and there was a silver pin in the shape of a hand on tunic. “Like from the old stories?”

“Have you not believed what I’ve told you, Lord Tyrell?” Daenerys arched a brow at him. Of course. This man must be Willas Tyrell. The queen’s betrothed.

“Of course I’ve believed you, Your Grace,” Lord Willas sputtered. “But seeing this is something else.”

“You have to see it to know,” Daenerys nodded towards the writhing corpse, trying to lunge out of its chains. 

“I saw my first wight years ago now,” Jon said. “We brought some corpses back from beyond the Wall. One came alive. It attacked the Lord Commander Mormont. I tried to kill it. But you stab it,” he unsheathed Longclaw and moved toward the beast. With one smooth stroke, Jon cut off the wights other hand. It continued to writhe and scream as if nothing had happened. “And it keeps moving. Only one thing can kill a wight.

“Do you have fire?” Jon asked Daenerys. She gestured to one of her guards who brought forward a torch.

Jon nodded to his men to give the wight as much rope as possible. Then he lit the creature on fire. It burned easily, just as all wights did. The smell of smoke filled the hall. He watched it burn, thinking of his grandfather and uncle who had been incinerated in this hall many years ago, murdered by the father of the queen who now stood by his side as his ally. When the wight had turned to ash, the hall was silent, staring at the remains. 

“Two years ago, Her Grace and her dragon accompanied me and my men on an expedition beyond the Wall to rescue a camp of Free Folk. She took thousands of refugees to Essos. Every living person who did not move south of the Wall, has now turned into this. We believe the army is over 100,000 strong.”

“But these are mindless creatures,” an old woman next to Lord Willas stepped forward. “Surely they will be easy to defeat.”

“Wights are mindless, but the Others are not. They control the wights. And they bring the cold. They use ice and mist as their weapons,” As he said the words, Jon could feel the cold creeping into his bones once again—that violent freeze that only the heat of another body could thaw.

“They are terrifying,” Daenerys said. “I have traveled the world and never seen anything that scared me so. But they can be killed. Valyrian steel can cut them down. I saw the Lord Commander here defeat one in single combat.”

Jon felt heat rise to his cheeks at the clear admiration in her voice. 

“For two years now, I have been telling my people that this is the true war.” The queen was looking at someone at the front of the crowd. Jon followed her eyes to see Tyrion Lannister, standing next to Lord Willas, an inscrutable look on his face. “Many in this room have doubted me. But this war is the only war that matters. Fire is the greatest weapon against this threat. I believe this is why my ancestors came to the continent. I believe this is why I was able to bring my children into the world. To fight an enemy that wants to see life itself destroyed.

“In the next days we will be working with our guests from the north to create a plan to protect the Wall. In the next weeks we will mobilize our armies to march to the northern border. And soon, I will fly with my three children to the Wall to face the threat.”

The court was staring at their queen as if she had three heads. But Jon felt a swooping feeling in his stomach that felt like flying. The most powerful person in the world, truly was joining his fight with the only weapons that could vanquish their foe. 

“Dark days lie ahead,” Daenerys continued. “But tonight we will hold a feast in honor of the north’s integration back into the Seven Kingdoms. And of the tireless efforts of the Night’s Watch to protect our northern border.” She turned to Pyp, Grenn, and Dolorous Edd. “It is good to see you again, Pyp, Grenn,” the men started, no doubt shocked the queen remembered them. “I hope you and the rest of your brothers will join us for the celebration.”

The Night’s Watch was in no position to turn down the queen’s invitation, which is how Jon ended up sitting at the High Table that night. The queen sat at the center of the table with Lord Willas at her left and Arya sitting at her right. Arya sat next to her great uncle Brynden Tully who was here as an envoy for the Riverlands. 

“A bastard and a dwarf sitting at the High Table,” said Jon’s neighbor, the only surviving child of Tywin Lannister. “What is the world coming to? Your men look a bit out of place.”

Jon peered out over the hall to the table where the Night’s Watch sat. His men had been shocked but excited at the invitation. Jon had given them a stern talking to, making it clear that they had been chosen for this expedition because he trusted them to behave in a manner becoming of their order. They were to sit politely and enjoy the food, but not to speak to any highborn ladies, and they certainly would not partake in any dancing as the night continued. Pyp was currently holding up a fork and watching it catch the light. No doubt he had never touched anything so fine. 

“It was kind of the queen to invite them,” Jon said.

“She much prefers the company of the lowborn to the highborn, I’m afraid,” Tyrion sighed. 

“It’s good to see you again, Lord Tyrion,” Jon picked up his own fine cutlery. The Red Keep was impressive, the furnishings were opulent, but he grew up in Winterfell. He was not overawed by his surroundings. “I want to thank you for protecting my sister. Sansa insists you were a gentleman throughout your brief marriage. She also appreciated the annulment you sent.”

“How is Sansa?” Tyrion asked. “I understand it is difficult for Lord Stark to travel, but I expected him to send the Lady Sansa in his stead.”

“She expected that too,” Jon admitted. “However Lord Stark insisted that Arya travel south.” He looked down the table to where Arya and the queen were engaged in an animated conversation. Arya lifted her arms as if in flight, and Jon smiled. He couldn’t hear their words from his position at the end of the table, but he could only guess that Arya was quizzing the queen on every detail Daenerys could share about her children.

“My brother works in mysterious ways,” Jon shrugged. “But perhaps he knew what he was doing.”

“We hear strange things about your brother,” Tyrion said. “Some say he has magic powers. Others claim he is an eccentric. I’ve even heard a rumor that your brother’s will surfaced naming you his heir and there was a contingent of northerners who wished to place you above your brother.”

“The south loves its rumors does it not?” Jon asked. “My brother is young, but he is an able lord. He does have visions, but so far they have proved to be accurate. And my sister Lady Sansa assists as lady regent. Any rumors about a rift in my family are unsubstantiated. Sorry to disappoint you. My place is with my command.”

“Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Tyrion whistled. “Your little order used to be a joke. And now you’re treating with queens. You’ve done well for yourself, my friend.”

“I wish for all our sakes that the Night’s Watch was still an order of little importance to the realm,” Jon said. “I have not tried to raise my own status, but simply muster the aid we need to protect the land of the living.”

“Still honorable to your bones, aren’t you?” Tyrion’s words were admiring but there was something sharp in his gaze that made Jon squirm. 

“I’m simply doing my duty,” Jon said. “What about you, Lord Tyrion? Last I heard you were the queen’s Hand.”

“Yes,” Tyrion’s eyes wandered down the table until they rested on Lord Willas who was speaking with the old woman Jon assumed to be the Lady Olenna. “Well, the queen deemed keeping me in such a place of honor no longer politically viable.” 

“But why make Lord Willas her Hand?” Jon asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “Won’t he be king consort soon?”

“Not soon,” Tyrion shook his head. “They are betrothed, but the queen insists that they will not marry until after she has won the War for the Dawn.”

“Is that so?” Jon took a sip of the wine and choked. It was too sweet. And the hall was too warm.

“So she made him Hand,” Tyrion replied. “He will rule in King’s Landing, while she fights at the Wall.”

“And you?” Jon asked, avoiding all the questions he had about _that_ particular arrangement. 

“I am Master of Supplies,” Tyrion said.

“Is that a position on the Small Council?” Jon thought back to his maester lessons as a boy. It didn’t ring a bell.

“It is now. I will oversee the movement of food and supplies from the south to the Wall.”

“That’s important work.” And quite the fall in power from the Hand.

“That’s what the queen said,” Tyrion’s voice was bitter. “But there is much I will need to know about the Wall. Will you come to my solar so we can discuss your needs?”

“Of course,” Jon nodded. 

The feast ended and the tables were moved aside for the dancing. Jon came down from the High Table to find his men standing awkwardly on the edges.

“Did you enjoy your food?” Jon asked.

“No rations!” Pyp explained. 

“That wine was as sweet as lemon cakes,” Grenn was a bit unsteady on his feet.

“It was so rich,” Dolorous Edd moaned, patting his stomach. “But—er—if we’re not allowed to dance, may we leave?”

Jon eyed them suspiciously. No doubt they were eager to try out some of King’s Landing’s famed brothels. 

“You may,” he sighed.

“Would you like to come?” Pyp asked. Grenn kicked him. Pyp had not lost hope that his one time friend would shake off his distance and join his old friends. Jon was tempted. He was always tempted. He had no interest in whores, but this would probably be his only time in King’s Landing. He could explore this great city and share a cup of mead while Pyp and Edd piled on Grenn. But then he would have to witness his old friends carousing. No doubt he would need to chastise them. And his purpose here was too important. He couldn’t have rumors coming back to the keep that the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch had been spotted in a brothel.

“I don’t think so,” Jon said. Pyp sighed, and the three men moved to mobilize the other Night’s Watchmen out of the hall. “Pyp,” Jon called after him, “Just, please be discreet.”

His men left, but Jon lingered, finding an empty corner, near a statue of Queen Rhaenys. He watched the lords and ladies dancing in their colorful southron finery. How many times had he sulked in the Great Hall in Winterfell, watching the highborn, but unable to join in the dancing? But tonight he felt no resentment at his bastard status. Tyrion was right. He had risen high over the years. His work was important. His role wasn’t glittery, but it was making a difference.

“What does Lord Snow see as he assess my court?” Her voice was more familiar than he would care to admit. It was softer, more teasing than it had been in the court today. Jon turned to see the queen standing before him, a small smile on her face.

“Assessing, Your Grace?” Jon asked.

“That’s how it appears from that look on your face,” Daenerys responded. 

“Well, I must admit, I’m thinking about how harsh the Wall will seem to your lords.”

“It will,” Daenerys sighed, surveying the crowd. “It must seem frivolous to you to hold such a celebration given what we face. But we need their support to fight this war. And frivolity and threats are how you gain it.” 

“I trust you know how to rule a court, Your Grace,” Jon said.

“I suppose you’re in my territory now.” There was hint of a challenge in her eyes as she said it.

“Aye, well, your territory is much more vast than mine,” Jon laughed nervously. “Congratulations on winning the war. Even with three dragons, conquering Westeros in less than two years is impressive.”

“Yes, well,” Daenerys said. “It’s not truly all the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne refused to cooperate and a war in the south is not worth my time at the moment.”

“What happened to the Iron Throne?” Jon asked, gesturing to the front of the hall where the Iron Throne was supposed to be.

“I melted it down,” Daenerys said. “Too many people died fighting for a chance to sit on the damn thing. When I finally had it, I couldn’t believe how monstrous it was. Liable to cut the monarch, and anyone else who went near it. That is not the reign I want to have.” 

They watched the dance floor in companionable silence for a moment. Arya was talking to the Blackfish. her arms crossed against her chest. Glaring at any young man who approached. 

“I’m glad you found your sister. I can see why you care about her so much. She’s quite the young lady.”

“I hope she didn’t talk your ear off about dragons,” Jon said.

“How did you know that’s what we were discussing?” Daenerys laughed. 

“I know my sister,” Jon shrugged.

The music changed from a jaunty jig to a more somber tone. The “Brave Danny Flint” echoed throughout the hall. A song chosen in honor of the northerners no doubt.

“Fitting,” Jon grunted. Daenerys looked at him quizzically. “This song. Do you know the story? A young girl disguises herself as a boy to fight at the Wall. It uh—it makes me think of you.” Jon rubbed his neck.

“My brother used to call me Dany,” Daenerys admitted. “Doesn’t this song end with the girl being raped and murdered?”

“I suppose it does. That part doesn’t remind me of you. Only the brave girl at the Wall part. Perhaps someday a bard will sing a new version about you.” He needed to stop talking. He sounded like a simpering lord, trying to flatter a beautiful lady. He was only being honest. Others take him! He was a northerner in King’s Landing. Honesty would be the death of him.

He glanced at the queen and saw her looking at him with amusement. And something else. Something soft. Jon wrenched his eyes away and looked around the hall. His hideaway was no longer hidden, not with the queen invading it. Tyrion peered at him from across the hall. Other nobles had turned their way.

“Ah, there you are,” Lord Willas approached, an affable smile on his face. 

“Lord Willas,” Daenerys smiled back at him, and the smile seemed genuine. Jon hoped that they would have a happy marriage. Whenever that might be. “I don’t think you’ve officially met Lord Snow.”

“I have not,” Lord Willas bowed his head politely. “You resemble your father, Lord Snow.”

“So I’ve heard, my lord.”

“He was an honorable man.” Willas said. 

“Aye, he was,” Jon grunted. There was a moment of silence that dragged a moment too long. “Congratulations on your betrothal. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” Jon bowed politely and removed himself from the situation. 

“There you are,” Arya said, skirting the dance floor to join him. “What were you discussing with the queen?”

“Nothing,” Jon said too quickly. The music changed, but Lord Willas did not pull Daenerys onto the dance floor. No doubt stymied by his limp. “Just Wall business. I’m going to call it a night actually.”

“Me too, I’ll come with you.” Arya started for the hall’s entrance.

“Is that wise?” Jon followed her. “Don’t you need to speak with other nobles? Gain more allies? Dance with some southron boy?”

“I am not dancing,” Arya huffed. “Besides, I’m here to improve the relationship between House Stark and House Targaryen. And tomorrow the Queen is showing me her dragons, so I’m doing pretty well, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Jon said. It really was none of his business. He was not a Stark.

“Want to come?” Arya asked. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Jon risked one last glance and the betrothed couple before exiting the hall.

“Your loss,” Arya said. “They’re dragons, Jon! Real grown dragons, just like in the stories!”

⌘

Jon woke before dawn the next morning, feeling out of place in his too big, too soft bed. His life at the Wall was filled with routine, and it felt strange to be away from it. He worked himself through his morning exercises but soon felt penned in despite the high ceilings of the great room. Taking Ghost as his guard, Jon decided to explore the keep. 

The architecture was impressive, the red walls decorated with sumptuous tapestries depicting historic scenes from Targaryen history. At first he examined them with interest, lingering over scene of Daeron the Young Dragon. But it was hard for him to focus on the older history when so much more recent history had happened in these walls. Jon pictured his father, walking the halls with the Hand badge on his chest. Was Father arrested in one of these halls? Did someone betray him? Was he scared as they dragged him away? 

He escaped out into the warm air. It felt like fall here. He didn’t need to wear his black cloak outside. He exited the Keep, Ghost staying close to this side. He heard a cry and saw a dragon gliding over the city and headed landing on a hill opposite the Red Keep. He could see the outlines of a great structure, although it appeared to be in ruins. Perhaps that was the famed Dragonpit? His legs seemed to move with a mind of their own, taking him through the city streets to the far hill. There were so many people. Too many people. He was grateful for Ghost’s presence which gave him a wide berth. 

The ruined structure was guarded by Unsullied and other men who appeared to be from Essos. Perhaps they had been trained to tend to her dragons, so she took them with her from the east. The hulking stone structure remained impressive, despite the fact that some of its walls were crumbling. Jon stepped into the colonnade that ringed the structure. He moved farther in, towards the great space where the dragon had landed. This one had bronze scales, and Jon watched as the guard released a cow into the pit. There was a burst of flame and the dragon charred the cow, and then proceeded to crunch on the burnt carcass.

“You,”a guard approached. “Leave. You’re not allowed here.”

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but the guard was called away as another dragon landed in the pit. This one had a rider. Her hair was pulled back in intricate braids to keep it from getting caught up in the wind. She was wearing trousers and a black fur coat stitched in red. She looked down from the back of her dragon and caught Jon watching. She waved him forward. He pushed past the confused guard and moved towards Drogon. Daenerys slid off its back. 

“Your Grace,” Jon bent to take a knee but Daenerys stopped him.

“Please don’t.” She had a puzzled look on her face.

There was a crash, and Jon looked to the far side of the Dragonpit where another dragon had landed. This one was smaller than Drogon with green scales. Jon walked towards it, curiosity getting the better of him. The beast stretched its neck, gazing at Jon curiously as he approached. He didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that Drogon had let Jon touch him before, so why not this one? Jon took off his glove and held his hand out to the dragon as if he were a wolf. The dragon sniffed and took a step towards Jon, who stayed very still, holding his breath. When it didn’t appear as if the dragon were going to eat him, Jon reached out his hand and touched the dragon’s snout. The scales were just as he remembered on Drogon. Still so hot. A fire burning underneath.

Jon heard a crunch of boots behind him. He turned to see Daenerys walking towards him. “What’s this one’s name?” Jon asked.

“Rhaegal,” Daenerys stood next to Jon and stroked Rhaegal’s neck.

“After your brother, right?” 

“Yes.” There was an unmistakable note of sadness to her voice. “He let you touch him.”

“Aye,” Jon shifted on his feet, nervous that he had done something wrong.

“So did Drogon,” she said. “Is it because you’re a warg?”

“There could be some connection,” Jon shrugged. “But I could never warg into a dragon.” 

“The last person who tried to touch my children was Quentyn Martell. He had more Blood of Old Valyria in him than almost anyone else in Westeros.” Daenerys’s violet eyes were wide. “And my children scorched him to death. Do you know who your mother was Jon Snow?”

“No,” Jon winced. And he didn’t care for her bringing it up. Jon stepped away from the dragon, moving back towards the gates of the arena where her guards stood. “But I doubt she has anything to do with it. I have some magic, you know that.”

“I suppose that’s it,” Daenerys said. “Want to try riding one?” Jon stopped in his tracks and turned to her. That challenge was back in her eyes.

“You just told me that the last person who tried to was burned alive.” Jon looked behind her to where the dragon Rhaegal was crunching on some bones.

“There’s something different about you, Lord Snow.” Feeling uncomfortable under Daenerys’s gaze, Jon moved towards the arena gate.

“Besides my weak warging ability, I am simply a bastard. Nothing more, nothing less.”

They walked through the arches to the colonnade that circled the pit. Daenerys nodded at her guards. Ghost, who had avoided walking into the dragon’s den, ambled up to greet them. Daenerys looked around, but there was no one but her Unsullied guard in sight. Ghost’s head was even with her chest.

“Hello, Ghost.” She patted him on his head and then scratched him behind the ears. He nuzzled into her, basking in the attention. Jon rolled his eyes, wishing Ghost had more self-respect. He was a direwolf, and he was acting like a lapdog. “I missed you, boy. My favorite bed warmer.”

Jon cleared his throat. This was exactly the sort of situation with the Queen he needed to avoid. “Well, I should be—“

“I want to show you something,” Daenerys said. “Follow me.” What was he supposed to do? She was the queen. She made her way to a rickety old staircase that had somehow survived the ruin of the place. The steps had scorch marks, and Jon worried about their stability. But the queen walked up them without hesitation, and after refusing her invitation to ride a dragon, he didn’t want to appear craven.

The stairs flattened out into a walkway that circled the walls of the pit. Portions of the walkway had fallen into ruin but where they stood seemed solid enough. To Jon’s right, the three dragons feasted on animal carcasses; to his left the whole city was laid out before him, the Red Keep looming on its hill in the distance.

Daenerys perched herself on the stone wall on the city-side of the walkway, her feet dangling over the edge daringly. She turned around to look at him, a clear invitation to sit. Reluctantly, Jon joined her, hoisting himself up to sit beside her. 

“It’s not the Wall, and it’s nothing compared to being on a dragon, but it’s a view.” Daenerys said. 

“The city is impressive,” Jon agreed.

“How do you really feel?” 

“Impressed, truly!” Jon laughed. “But I think it’s too many people for me. And this city holds some painful memories.”

“Me too.” Daenerys tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, and then looked up into the sky, searching for an answer. “My whole childhood all Viserys and I talked about was returning home to the city of our ancestors. And now I’m here. The city is mine. And it’s filled with ghosts.”

“It was strange returning to Winterfell after my siblings re-took it,” Jon admitted. “So much had changed. But we could all still feel them there: Father, Robb, Lady Catelyn. I don’t know if a person can ever truly return home.”

“This is not my home,” Daenerys said. “Home is family. Home is a place you feel safe. The Red Keep is a mausoleum. I’m constantly surrounded and always alone.” Jon was tempted to reach out and grab her hand. He remembered how it felt to be utterly alone. That’s how he had been when they met. His only confidant had been Aemon. Sweet, wise Aemon who had died during Daenerys’s stay at the Wall. Jon remembered standing over the maester’s corpse with her. He had held her while she cried, terrified that someone would walk in and discover them.

“But _you’re_ not alone anymore,” Daenerys said, a sad smile on her perfect face. “I’m happy for you. Truly. A couple of years ago you were the loneliest man I had ever met.”

Jon ruble his jaw. “The position’s still lonely, but having my siblings return north has improved things. You are betrothed. Surely your marriage will change things? Lord Willas has a good reputation. He seems like a kind man.”

“He is.” Daenerys didn’t elaborate further. She turned her unnerving eyes on him. Jon took steady breaths, doing everything he could to keep his face a mask. He wished desperately that he didn’t know what she tasted like; that he couldn’t remember the softness of her skin or what it felt like to be surrounded by her tight heat. 

“I hear you will wait till after the war to wed?” Jon asked, grasping at anything to fill the silence. 

“A celebration for the city after the war.”

“I’m a bit surprised,” Jon said. “Lord Willas appears eager to wed.” What man wouldn’t be eager to marry this woman?

Daenerys sighed. “He is. And his grandmother may be even more eager to have her grandson wed and declared king consort. And if we did that now, what would happen then? I head north with my children leaving a king consort on the Iron Throne. What if the Tyrells grow used to it? What if they start to question why he merely has the title king consort and not king? What if they start to wonder if it’s in their family’s best interests for me to return south at all? I am the first ruling queen that Westeros has ever had, my lord. I have to guard my power. No one else will.”

Jon expelled a breath, taking comfort in her logic. Of course that’s why she would delay a marriage. He felt sorry for her, not even being able to trust her betrothed.

“Why?” Daenerys quirked a smile. “Did you think I had some other reason to delay my nuptials?” Jon’s palms began to sweat. He would be a fool to mistake the invitation in that look. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a party approaching. A banner with a grey wolf flapped in the breeze. 

“Arya, “Jon said dumbly, eager for the disruption.

“Ah yes,” Daenery said. “Your sister wanted to see my dragons. Come, let’s greet her.”

They made their way back down the rickety stairs where Ghost waited. Arya dismounted in front of the Dragonpit. She handed her reigns to her guard and walked up the path. She looked like a child told it could eat a whole pile of lemon cakes. Then she saw Jon standing next to the queen and her eyes clouded in confusion..

“Jon? What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t want to see the dragons with me.”

“I went for a walk and ended up here,” Jon shrugged. “Suppose it’s hard to stay away when there are real live dragons in the world.” Arya’s eyes flicked between him and the queen suspiciously.

“And I was instructing the Lord Commander on my orders for the day.” Daenerys’s voice was hard and regal—the tone changed from their quiet conversation above. “Grey Worm will be in the central practice yard. He is eager to hear from you about the Army of the Dead. There will be other lords showing off their skills as well. Train them all. The lords here will be our generals in the war.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Jon whistled to Ghost, making his way down the path back to the Red Keep. “Have fun,” he whispered to Arya, and then stopped in his tracks remembering Daenerys’s story about Quentyn Martell. “And be carefull. Do exactly as she says. I don’t want to hear later today that my little sister was burned to a crisp.” 

The rest of Jon’s day was spent rather enjoyably with Grey Worm in the practice yard of the Red Keep. Grey Worm was smart and eager to learn about the Others from a military man like himself. The Unsullied fascinated Jon. They had a level of discipline and an ability to move together that he could never get form his mixture of criminals, Free Folk, and fools at the Wall. He returned to his room that night tired but fulfilled. After years of begging for scraps, he might actually be able to man the Wall with a force that would make a difference. 

An invitation was waiting for him when he arrived. His heart quickened for a moment, thinking it was from the queen. But no, Tyrion Lannister was following through on his invitation for a drink. 

“I am determined to enjoy as much Dornish wine as possible before I’m stranded at the dreary Wall of yours.” Tyrion handed him a cup, hosting in his solar. “Something tells me your cellars are not stocked with the best vintage.”Jon took a sip of the sweet and heady drink, missing the refreshing taste of ale.

“No, our cellars are stocked with food that we ration carefully to get us through the winter,” Jon said. “You southrons are in for a rude awakening of life at the Wall.”

“I would have rather stay south,” Tyrion grumbled. “I prefer my balls intact. Not frozen off.”

“You’re at risk of a lot more than your balls freezing off at the Wall these days,” Jon said.

“So I’ve heard for the past two years.” Tyrion took a sip of his wine, savoring the flavor. “She was different when she returned. She could fly her dragon. She had fully come into her power and instead of talking about conquering all of Slaver’s Bay or ending the Lannister reign once and for all, she wouldn’t stop talking about the true threat and the war to end all wars.”

“She was in the thick of it at Hardhome,” Jon said. “It’s hard to forget the things she’s seen.”

“Perhaps most shockingly, she came back singing the praises of Lord Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark. This from the woman who would silence anyone who dared suggest her father was at fault for anything, or her brother Rhaegar was anything less than a saint.”

“She spent a lot of time with Aemon. I think he was able to set the record straight on some of our family history.” Jon pictured Daenerys by Aemon’s beside, reading to him from his annals of Targaryen history.

“I haven’t seen you for years. You were a pretty young boy. I had hoped you had grown into an ugly and deformed man somehow, but you’ve disappointed me there.” Jon felt heat rising to his cheeks. He hated being called pretty. It was not a good word to describe the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. 

“I don’t see what my looks have to with anything,” Jon grumbled.

“Don’t you? You look like Ned, which I’m sure works in your favor in the north. But you’re prettier than Ned. And a strong soldier to boot. You wouldn’t be the first unavailable Stark to attract a passionate, stubborn Targaryen.”

Jon took a sip of his wine and then proceeded to gracefully choke. “I’m not a Stark,” he insisted. “I’m just a bastard lord commander. And I haven’t attracted anyone.”

“How in Seven Hells did you convince her to take thousands of wildling refugees all the way to Meereen? It was a political nightmare for me, I can tell you that.”

“She has a king heart. She cares about people.” This praise was not going to help convince Tyrion that there was nothing more between himself and the queen. “To be honest, I think she considers herself a savior. Perhaps it flatters her ego thinking she can save the world. But I did little to convince her.”

“That’s not what they will say, you know,” Tyrion said. “Lady Olenna is already telling anyone who will listen that she thinks you resemble Lyanna more closely than you do Ned.” 

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, that is quite the insult to your queen, don’t you think?” Jon said alarmed by the implied parallels. “I don’t know her well, but from what I’ve seen of Queen Daenerys seems to be a savvy and caring ruler. You’re suggesting that she’s some silly girl, moving the world for a boy. Is that really what you think of her?”

“No,” Tyrion sighed. “That’s not what I think of her. I think she’s smart. Her political skills grow every year. I think she will be the greatest monarch in the history of Westeros. I know she would not have left Meereen like she did unless the threat north of the Wall was truly dire. I know she wouldn’t plan to fight there herself and leave King’s Landing to the Tyrells unless she felt it was truly necessary. But that doesn’t change how things could look to a court eager for gossip.”

“There’s nothing I can do about a group of bored courtiers,” Jon said. “The threat is real. The queen is doing what needs to be done, and I’m simply a soldier playing my part.”

“Simply a soldier?” Tyrion asked. “You can’t get off that easily, my friend. I’ve heard rumors about what you did to help the Starks win back Winterfell. You hosted Stannis Baratheon and Daenerys Targryen at the Wall. And despite your protestations, I still believe you had a heavy hand in convincing the most powerful woman in the world that your cause was the most important. You’re in the great game more than any previous Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch has ever been in the history of the united Seven Kingdoms.”

“I don’t play games,” Jon protested. “I have simply worked to convince anyone who crosses my path that if we do not take this threat seriously, we will all die. Not just the Night’s Watch. The entire Seven Kingdoms.”

“You’re damn impressive,” Tyrion said, as if that was a disappointment. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so. It is clear in the queen’s voice when she speaks of you. And you’re similar to Her Grace. You both want to save people. You’re both passionate in your convictions. And your little chats have not gone unnoticed.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked. 

“She spoke to you for some time alone in the hall last night,” Tyrion said. 

“Mere pleasantries!” Jon protested. “We know each other. Do you expect us to act like we’ve never met?”

“And there were reports today that you spent time with her alone in the Dragonpit as well,” Trion said.

“Are you having me followed?” Jon was horrified.

“You can’t spend time alone with the queen in King’s Landing and expect it to go unnoticed.” Tyrion had not answered his question.

“I walked to the Dragonpit. I was curious. She happened to be there. We spoke for a few minutes, and then I left. Tyrion, there is nothing happening between myself and the queen. My vows mean something to me. I do not dishonor them.” The lie hurt. His vows did mean something to him. He hated himself for dishonoring them as many times as he had.

“Still talking like that, are you?” Tyrion asked. “You seem different to me now than the green boy who shouted at a feast that he would never fuck a woman.”

“I’m not the green boy I was when I joined the Night’s Watch,” Jon said. He’d fucked two women. One of them had been a queen. “And you seem to think that I’m intelligent. The most foolish thing a Lord Commander of my order could do would be to have a love affair with a queen. It would mean my head, Tyrion! I know that. And if I die soon, it will be fighting the Others. Not being executed for my own stupidity.”

“More intelligent men than you, Jon Snow have been felled by their cocks,” Tyrion said. Like Robb. What did the men say before the Starks re-took Winterfell? The Young Wolf never lost a battle, but he lost the war in his bed.

“I’m not threatening you, and I’m not trying to accuse you,” Tyrion continued. Jon raised an incredulous brow. “Honestly, I’m not. But I’m worried about you, and I’m worried for the queen. I know her well. She is not used to restraining herself when it comes to her passions. If anything does happen, Jon, Seven Hells be discreet. I don’t want to see you dead. Not when we need you for this fight.”

“Thanks for the wine,” Jon said. He had more wine before bed that night. Some helpful servant had brought it to him. It was too sweet, and sat strangely in his stomach. But it did help dull the sense of panic in his head. He thought they _were_ being discreet. Nothing inappropriate had happened. They hadn’t even acknowledged to each other what had happened before at the Wall. Jon hadn’t had the chance to insist it could never happen again. It felt presumptuous to bring it up at all. She was betrothed now. Surely she had only turned to Jon in a moment of adrenaline. Surely if she needed to, she could take some other lover with her north to the Wall.

Tyrion had intimated that there was more though. He suggested that the queen admired Jon. Others take him, what did that mean? Of course there was respect between them after what they had gone through. How could there not be? It wasn’t every day that you rescued thousands of people from an army of the dead. Tyrion was being dramatic. He was used to court intrigue, and was looking for it where there wasn’t any. Jon and the queen may have succumbed to their desires at the Wall, but it was physical only, something that could easily be avoided in the future. He was the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and she was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, that was all.

The next few days Jon threw himself into training with the Unsullied and other lords in the practice yard. There were no more run ins with the queen. No private conversations to fuel court gossip. He enjoyed working with the Unsullied. Grey Worm was an enjoyable training partner, learning easily and then helping Jon work his other men. Some of the noblemen were less enthused about being trained by a bastard, but the queen had made her orders clear. Jon missed his own practice yard, his group of hard, lowborn men. He rarely felt like a bastard anymore in his command, but here, he could see his status in the looks he received, the eye rolls when they thought his back was turned. Father always said Jon would not fare well in the south.

Then one afternoon, there was a commotion in the stands overlooking the practice yard. The queen had come to watch along with a group of her ladies. They sat in the stands like they had come to view a tourney. He looked up at her in the stands, and she gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Care for a melee Lord _Snow_ ,” Lord Harry Hardyng asked. Jon knew Harry Hardyng from his role in the Stark’s taking of Winterfell. Lord Hardyn was engaged to Sansa in fact. Jon disliked the man. Hardyng was all show and no substance. The dislike was mutual. Jon didn’t know if it was Jon’s bastard status or a fear that Jon would make a play for Winterfell. 

If Jon were at the Wall, he would refuse. He fought for survival, not entertainment. But he wasn’t at the Wall. He was at court, and surely Ser Hardyng would see a refusal as an insult. And he could feel her eyes on him. He willed himself not to look up into the stands before agreeing.

The two men circled each other, getting a taste. Jon had watched Ser Hardyng fight before. The lord was strong, but he was showy. Jon conserved his energy. He fought to win, not to impress. Perhaps the politically wise thing would have been to let the his sister’s betrothed show off for a bit. Lull him into a sense that they were at least a fair match before cutting him down. But she was watching. Her court was watching, and he hated being on display. So he ended the fight quickly, Ser Hardyng disarmed and flat on his back in the dirt.

“Good bout,” Jon reached out his hand to help his opponent up.

“I don’t need your help, bastard,” the man spat. Fine. Jon didn’t truly want to give it. He glanced up briefly to the stands where the queen was appraising him. He turned his back, eager to get back to work training with Grey Worm. He was done with court games.

“Anyone else want a go against the Lord Commander?” Daenerys asked the men assembled in the practice yard. Jon froze. So it this what she wanted? Some sort of show from him?

Ser Barristan the Bold volunteered. Jon couldn’t deny that match filled him with excitement. The man was a legend, and Father had always said he was a man of honor. He was also old. He had a white beard, and he moved with a stiffness typical of a man his age. Jon was hesitant to exploit those weakness.

“Please, Lord Commander,” Ser Barristan puffed after a hit that could have been a final blow had Jon not held back. “Don’t go easy on me. It makes me feel old.”

The next hit ended the bout. “Well done,” Ser Barristan eagerly shook Jon’s hand. “You’re one of the best swordsman I’ve seen. And I’ve fought with the best.”

“Thank you, ser.” Jon felt a little like he was floating. “My father always spoke highly of you.”

“We were on different sides in the war,” Ser Barristan said. “But I always thought highly of him.”

“Anyone else?” Daenerys called over the yard. Jon glared at her—a look he knew he shouldn’t give to a queen. 

Ser Redwyne from the Reach volunteered. He was strong, but slow. The perfect opponent for Jon’s quick movements. The whole fight Jon felt his rage growing, fueled by the feeling that the queen was trying to show him off to her court. As he always did when he was in a mood, he channeled his anger into the fight, landing a harsh and unnecessary blow in the chest to Ser Redwyne, who would certainly have a bruise the next day. The man lay on his back, winded. 

“Apologies,” Jon reached down to help him. Redwyne waved him off, a look of fear in his eyes. 

“Who’s next?” the queen asked. “My men have gone too long without a formidable opponent.”

“This isn’t a tourney, Your Grace,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “I believe I’m done for the day.” He nodded to her as politely as he could, although he knew he was being dangerously rude. He brushed off calls from the other knights and soldiers for a chance to fight him, and retreated to the wet stone where he cleaned and sharpened Longclaw. 

He focused on his breathing, labored from the fights, and worked to calm himself down. His damn temper always got the better of him. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the Queen approaching. She waved her guards back, so they could have some privacy, although the entire practice yard was staring at them. Surely this would be discussed the next day.

“I thought you hated the fighting pits?” Jon asked. 

“Excuse me?” The queen was offended.

“You told me once that you hated forcing slaves to fight for entertainment.” Jon focused on his blade, avoiding her eyes. “And what in Seven Hells was that?”

“That was an opportunity for you to show my court your skills, my lord,” Daenerys said. “You are asking for a shocking amount of aid. I think it’s important for my courtiers to see that the Lord Commander is not a fool or a craven, but an accomplished swordsman, something they will respect and understand.”

“I don’t like putting on a show.” Jon finally looked up at her and her violet eyes caught his. He was expecting her to be angry. He was surprised to see that she looked hurt. “I don’t appreciate playing the pet, performing for your court’s entertainment.”

“Is that how you think I see you?” Now there was a mixture of hurt and amusement on her face. “As my pet?”

Laughter bubbled up inside him. He failed to hold it back, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting him. He was acting like a petulant child in front of the most powerful person in the word. And somehow she was concerned about what he thought of her.

“I supposed not."

“Because I have pets with far more impressive skills than yours.” She was laughing now too. Jon knew she didn’t truly consider her dragons to be pets, but she had a fair point.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Jon said. “My temper got the best of me.”

“I’m sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position,” Daenerys said. “But I think it’s important that my people respect you and understand your importance.”

“I’m not important,” Jon said quickly.

“You and your men have been all that standing between the living and the dead. We need you.”

_We?_ He wanted to ask. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, Your Grace. But in the eyes of your court, I will always be a bastard. Birth matters more than skill down here in the south.”

Daenerys opened her mouth to speak. “Forgive me, Your Grace—” Jon interrupted her, Tyrion’s warnings ringing in his ears. “But your court is watching. I fear it is a bad idea to speak more here.” With a quick bow he left her, feeling her eyes following him as he exited the yard.

⌘

“We’ve filled in gates and tunnels under the Wall. The Other’s army has been stationed near Hardhome.” Jon pointed to the now abandoned village on the map spread out on the Small Council table. “The only scouting missions these days we do by boat. But those have become treacherous now too, because of the undead cracken.”

“Come again?” Tyrion asked. The Queen was holding a war council for Jon to educate her advisors on the situation in the north and create a plan to move her armies north. The room was full, too many people present to properly sit around the table. The queen sat at the head of the table with Jon to her left. Lord Willas, Lady Olenna, Arya, Grey Worm, Ser Barristan the Bold, Bronze Yohn Royce and Harry Hardyng, the Blackfish, and Lord Jon Connington had all been summoned to hear what Jon had to say.

And Jon had said a lot. He had prepared for years for the chance to ask for more aid from a force powerful enough to give it. He brought maps, weapons inventory, and numbers from food supplies. He laid out all the research that he and Bran, and Sam had done to discover which weapons would be most effective against the dead. He was the bastard Lord Commander of an order that the southrons treated as a joke. He needed to leave no room for doubt in their soft heads that he and his fight at the Wall were deadly serious. 

“They turned a cracken into a wight,” Jon repeated. “We believe that there is only one, but other animals have been turned as well. There are herds now huddled at the Wall, with no place left to go.”

“The Queen said she fought with you at Hardhome,” Lord Willas said. “Why are the dead still there? That was two years ago.”

“The Wall has magic that stops them from crossing,” Jon said. “We believe that they are trying to find a way through the barrier.”

“Ah, surely your magic Wall will protect you, Lord Commander,” Lady Olenna said. “Don’t you fret.”

Jon bristled at her patronizing tone. 

“And if it doesn’t?” He asked. “How long do you think the north will hold out against an Army of the Dead during the harshest winter in centuries? If they cross the Wall, every northerner they kill will turn into another soldier for their army. You will have to face their current force and all of us.”

“If they can turn dead soldiers into those wights creatures, doesn’t it make more sense to keep the armies in the south? So that we’re not just giving them more bodies to turn into monsters?” Harry Hardyng asked.

“You craven!” Arya shouted. “You’re too afraid to face them.”

“They cannot turn burned corpses into their creatures,” Daenery said. “My children can destroy the wights And we will burn any corpses in our army so they can’t be turned against us. But we will not leave the northerners to die, twiddling our thumbs in the south waiting for the others to take us.”

“How many men are you thinking of sending north, Your Grace?” Lord Connington asked. 

“All of them. We will mobilize our full army.”

“The Lord Commander has taught me much in the past few days,” Grey Worm said. “The Unsullied will not be afraid to face this foe.” The Unsullied were the most impressive force Jon had ever seen. But every living person should be afraid to face the Others. 

“Who will lead this army, Your Grace?” Lord Royce asked. “If you mobilize the south, you will have an army of close to 200,000 people. The largest that Westeros has ever seen.”

All the men in the room sat up straighter in their chairs. Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. No doubt Daenerys would need to honor one of her lords. And Jon would have to take orders from a tourney knight who knew nothing about what they faced. No matter. With 200,000 and three dragons, they might actually win this fight.

“I have given a great deal of thought to this,” Daenerys cleared her throat. “And the choice is obvious to me. The Lord Commander has been leading the fight at the Wall for years now. He will continue to lead it. He will command my armies while they are in the north.”

Jon went hot then cold at once. He fought the urge to ask her to repeat herself, but the looks of shock around the room confirmed that she had said something slightly mad. The Dragon Queen wanted to give him command of the largest army in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

“That’s an awful lot of power to give to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” Lady Olenna looked Jon up and down in a way that made him feel exposed. “Even if he is pretty. Just like his aunt.”

“Jon can do it,” Arya insisted. “He was raised as a Stark.” Not strictly true, but her loyalty was touching. “He was always just as good as Robb at everything. And Robb never lost a battle.” 

“Ned Stark’s bastard, leading all your forces?” Ser Hardyng asked. 

“You’re sore that he’s a better swordsman than you.” Arya glared around the table at the men that Jon had bested in the practice yard the past few days. “Than all of you.”

“Arya,” Jon shook his head and gave her a warning look. 

“You can’t be serious Your Grace,” Ser Hardyng huffed. 

“I am completely serious.” Daenerys stared her small council down. The petite woman could summon a lot of force in her gaze. “As is he. In fact, the only force that has been serious the past few years is the Night’s Watch. They’ve been doing everything they can to protect the Seven Kingdoms, while the lords and ladies of the south have ripped it apart with your games. This—” she gestured to the maps and charts laid out on the table— “Is the only war that matters. And I am giving command to the one commander who understands that.

“Unless of course, Lord Commander, you don’t want it.” Daenerys turned to look at him, her eyes wide with a question, and a challenge. The look stoked a fire in him. Others take him--of course he wanted it! He was lured to the Night’s Watch with false tales of duty and glory. For years, the position had been a joke. But now the most powerful woman in the world was acknowledging that his work mattered, and that he was the man to lead in the war to come. For a foolish moment he thought about the songs they might sing of the Dragon Queen and the Lord Commander if they triumphed over the dead. 

Tyrion cleared his throat, giving Jon a pointed look. He had been staring at Daenerys for too long. 

“It’s not a question of what I want, Your Grace.” Jon understood exactly what the highborn would want to hear from a bastard. “I have pledged my life to this fight. If you think I can serve it best as Lord Commander of your armies, then of course I will do my duty.”

“Good, it’s settled then.” The ghost of a smile flickered on the queen’s face, before she repressed it. “You will stay here for the next few weeks and continue to train my armies. Then you will return north and ready the Wall for the greatest army that Westeros has ever seen.”

⌘

That night he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, running through lists in his head. How could he ensure that 200,000 men were properly trained to fight the dead? Where would they sleep? He had been rehabilitating the old forts for years, but still the Wall didn’t have capacity for that many men. And would they freeze in tents at the Wall? 

He rose, pulled on his blacks and started to pace the chamber. This massive room appeared to have everything, including a desk with parchment and paper. Jon sat, lit a candle and started to write, working out sums, making hierarchies of his command, drawing battle movements. There was a rustling in the far side of the room. The noise grew louder and the tapestry against the wall started to move. Jon left the desk, creeping over to the side of the bed where Longclaw lay. Was it an assassin? Had Harry Hardyng or Willas Tyrell sent someone to kill him and take away his command? Ghost wasn’t concerned. Ghost was sitting in front of the tapestry as if expecting a friend. 

The tapestry swung aside and Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the room. She wore a velvet robe, embroidered with dragons. Her hair fell in curls down to her waist. There was no crown. She was wearing slippers. And she had come to his room in the middle of the night. Ghost greeted her enthusiastically, affectionately licking her fingers. Daenerys giggled. 

“Your Grace,” Jon set his sword down, his heart pounding. “You should warn a person, before surprising  them in the middle of the night.”

“Apologies,” Daenerys said, standing by the tapestry and staring at him. 

“How did you get in here?” Jon asked dumbly.

“There’s a secret passage connecting this room with mine. May I have some wine?” She gestured to the desk where Jon had been drinking as he wrote. 

Jon nodded. She poured herself a cup and then refilled Jon’s, holding it out to him. Jon shook his head. He did not want to drink wine with her in his room in the middle of the night. This situation was precisely what he needed to avoid. She sat in his desk chair, dragging it around to face him. He perched on the edge of the great bed.

“Your Grace, you shouldn’t be here,” Jon said. “Who else knows that there’s a passage connecting these rooms?” 

“No one,” Daenerys insisted. “Varys was the only other person who knew. And he’s dead now.”

“Oh.” Jon had heard some tales about the Master of Whisperer’s execution. He understood the sting of betrayal, having executed several of his own men in the past few years. “Surely you guards or someone will come looking for you.”

“Only the Unsullied guard me tonight,” Daenerys said. “They won’t come looking. No one will know that I’m here. Look, Ghost is already watching your door.” Indeed the wolf was perched in front of the room’s entrance, playing the part of guard dog. Well, the wolf had brought them together in secret before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jon buried his head in his hands.

“I simply wanted to talk,” Daenerys said. Jon peered at her through his fingers. Seven hells but she was  beautiful, lit only by the soft candlelight. Her hair glowed. She looked ethereal, from some other world. A better world than this one. 

“We could talk during the day.” Fully dressed, surrounded by guards, his men, and her court. That’s the only contact they were supposed to have. A queen and a lord commander. This was certainly not that. 

“Can we?” Daenerys took a sip of her wine. “You said we shouldn’t speak with so many eyes upon us?”

“Aye, we need to be careful.” Her eyes were too much. He started to pace. “Our work is important.  We’re young and, and we’re both-"

“Beautiful,” Daenerys’s appraisal made him go hot all over.

“And you know what people will say,” Jon said. “I am a bastard. The highborn will always assume the worst from me. And our family has a history, Your Grace. The realm bled because of your brother and my aunt.”

“I wonder if you look like her?” Daenerys mused. “I’ve heard your sister does. And Lady Arya looks like you.”

“And don’t you see how that’s a problem for you?” Jon asked. “What people would say if you made the same mistakes your brother did? My brother made them too. He’s dead now. I made my vows. I’ve pledged my life and my honor the Night’s Watch.”

“Who said anything about you breaking your vows?” Daenerys teased. His temper flared.

“Don’t toy with me, Your Grace,” Jon said. “I am not your plaything. And I am not a green boy. You wouldn’t risk coming to my room in the middle of the night simply to talk.” If they were caught, it wouldn’t matter what they did. Her being found in his room in the middle of the night would be enough. In some ways, the damage was already done. Perhaps they might as well—no. His vows mattered to him. 

“And what if I did come to talk?” Daenerys asked. Her voice was softer, more vulnerable now. The teasing gone. “What if I truly am that lonely?”

That stopped Jon in his tracks. He turned to face her again. She was so much less intimidating like this. Staying away from the queen was one thing. But this wasn’t the first time that Jon had met the woman underneath. She was the the only other person he had ever met who understood how lonely it was to lead. She was the only other person who felt as isolated as him. And years ago, she had been the only other person who understood how it felt to loose your entire family to the great game: to be the last of your kind. It wasn’t true of him anymore. But she was still alone.

“What about your betrothed?” Jon asked his mouth dry. Something was cracking open inside him. 

“What about him?” Daenerys asked.

“How would he feel about you being in another man’s chamber in the middle of the night?”

“Lord Willas is a kind man,” Daenerys said. “I would never want to hurt him. But we are not married. We have a political alliance. He understands this. He knows he has no right over my body. We haven’t spoken any vows. Who knows if the marriage will ever happen. You’re not a green boy, and I’m not a virgin queen. I take lovers. A husband in a political arrangement needs to understand that.”

Of course she took lovers. He pushed down all the questions he wanted to ask but had no right to. How many? Do you love them? Do you feel anything but attraction to me? They had so much in common, and yet what different lives they lived. Her with her sophisticated right to choose bedmates, and his vow to sleep in a cold bed for the rest of his life.

“You shouldn’t take Lyanna Stark’s nephew for a lover,” Jon insisted, holding onto his logic as that thing inside him continued to crack open a little farther. “You _can’t_ take the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch for a lover. It’s illegal.”

“Well then, if you’re finished telling your queen what she can and can’t do--”

“Is this why you did it?” Jon asked, trying to find something to hold onto amidst the turmoil in his gut. 

“You gave me a hell of a lot of power today. Is this why you did it? So I would feel beholden to you?”

“Is that what you think?” Daenerys jumped to her feet, her cheeks red in anger. “Do you consider me the Dragon Whore, too? A lusty witch, luring men to her bed with promises of power?” She turned away from him, which is why he had said it. He should let he go now, leave it at that. Not let this perilous thing between them progress any farther. But he couldn’t let her leave thinking that.

He grabbed her hand. “You know what I think of you,” he whispered. 

“I don’t actually,” she turned back to him, clutching his hand. “You’re a very difficult man to read.” Truly? He thought it must be obvious on his face every time he looked at her.

“You came back,” he turned from her again and let go of her hand, a desperate attempt to create a little space. “You left with refugees and promised to return with your dragons and the greatest army the world had ever seen to defend the Wall. And then you actually did it! You left your cities in the east. You conquered Westeros in less time than it took Aegon and his sisters. And now you’re saying that you’re going to give me everything I could possibly hope for to win this fight.”

“Did you not believe me?” Daenerys looked puzzled. “You doubted I was a woman of my word?”

“How could you possibly be a woman of your word?” Jon laughed desperately. “Who could possibly _do_ all those things? Some days I feel like I dreamed you up, and you can’t possibly exist—like you’re some hero from a song.”

“I’m not,” Daenerys cut him off. “Don’t make me your hero. I’m not that. I’ve done terrible things. I know it looks different from the outside, but I’ve failed as often as I’ve succeeded. I’ll do my best to save the world, but I’ll never get what I truly want. So don’t make me into some magical goddess.”

“What do you want?” Jon asked. 

“A home,” Daenerys breathed. Such a simple thing. Something that everyone should have. That most people far less powerful than her took for granted. His heart broke for her in that moment. She was giving him everything he wanted. What could the bastard Lord Snow possibly offer the Dragons Queen in return? 

“Jon, I’m not trying to put you in an uncomfortable position. If you want me to go, I will, and I won’t hold it against you. You’ll stay the commander of my armies, and I’ll respect your choice. But if that’s what you truly want, I need you to ask me to leave.”

He opened his mouth to tell her to go, but the words he needed to say didn’t come. “Why me?” He asked instead. “You could have any many in the world. Why does it need to be me?”

“Because I’ve had other men,” Daenerys said. “But I only feel like I’m not alone when I’m with you.”

That thing—sense, reason, logic, morals, vows—whatever it was that was keeping a tight clench on his stomach broke open at her words. Her confession moved him in a way he couldn’t control, not with her standing there in her velvet slippers, her hair down and her eyes wide. He pulled her to him, kissing her on the lips gently. They were soft and full and tasted like Dornish wine—Tyrion’s favorite vintage. But then she slipped her tongue through his lips to taste him and something else took over. He yanked her to him then, drowning in her kiss. He had missed the touch of a woman, and this woman in particular. It wasn’t right to cut yourself off from something that made you human. He pulled her to the bed—so much bigger than the one he usually slept in at Castle Black, seat of his command.

“Wait.” he pulled back, breathless, and mindless. She started untying her robe. “Are you sure it’s safe and no one will know?”

Daenerys started kissing his neck, undoing the ties of his gambeson. “It’s safe. I can be reckless, but I’m not foolish. I promise.” It was a lie. They were both foolish. This was a horribly foolish thing to do.

“It can’t happen at the Wall, you understand?” Jon pleaded. “I won’t betray my vows there.” But he could violate them here? Did he think his oaths were conditional, dependent on location? He was a hypocrite, but somehow doing this in the Red Keep, didn’t feel as wrong as doing it at Castle Black.

“Alright,” Daenerys threw her robe onto the floor. Next she shucked off his gambeson, so he was standing before her in a tunic and breaches. “Only here then.”

“If anyone finds out, Daenerys, I’m done.” He needed her to understand the stakes. He needed her to understand what he was risking to help her feel a little less alone. But he knew his protests and pleas were ultimately futile. There was something here between them that wouldn’t be denied. Something dangerous.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” The look Daenerys gave melted him. “We have too much to do together. You’re too important to me.” 

And with that, she untied her nightgown, letting it fall next to her robe. She climbed onto the bed and laid on her back, tiny amongst all the pillows. He gazed at her, trying to memorize every inch of her smooth skin, not knowing how many opportunities he would have to see her. No bard could possibly ever do her justice. Her body was strong, muscles toned no doubt from years of riding both horses and dragons. But she was also so sensuous. Her hair was soft. Her breasts were full. And her eyes were open and wanting. The feeling of being wanted was something that Jon had felt too rarely in his life—the bastard boy, so unwanted he pledged himself to a hard, cold life. But her eyes said that maybe warmth didn’t need to be closed to him forever. Perhaps he could steal a bit of it; just enough to keep his fire alive as he fought the dead. Jon’s hands and lips followed the tracks his eyes had made. He memorized her skin with all his senses, taking note of which caresses made her moan, learning her in a way he hadn’t dared the last time they had done this. 

As he shimmied out of his trousers and aligned his body with the queen’s, skin to skin, a terrible word hung over them—a feeling more dangerous than the queen’s children. It had felled both their brothers. Was this how Robb had felt when he betrayed his betrothal? For surely love was the only explanation for why Jon would do something so reckless. As he entered her tight heat and looked into her eyes that were open and eager, he couldn’t think of his vows or the terrible fight ahead. All he felt was her. His body took over—thoughts, politics, vows, replaced with a primal need. They were rough together, wild. The dragons and the wolf. She moaned and her walls fluttered around him, telling him that she was feeling this too. He chased her pleasure, letting go and giving into his own. As he tipped over the edge into ecstasy, he thought that doom had never tasted so sweet. 


End file.
